


One More Miracle

by Mycrofts_Favorite



Series: Holmes Family Miracles [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Eating Disorders, Engagement, M/M, Marriage, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mycrofts_Favorite/pseuds/Mycrofts_Favorite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the day of our third anniversary, one year and nine months after the funeral. I decided I finally felt ready to go home. I thanked Mycroft for everything before leaving, and he had one of his cars take me back to Baker Street. Once arrived, I gathered both my suitcases and all of my courage, and walked inside. It looked absolutely the same, except for a layer of dust along the banister from lack of use. I walked upstairs, leaving my luggage by the stairs, and cautiously opened the door to our flat. Everything was exactly how it'd been left almost two years ago. The entire place still lingered with the scent of Sherlock, and happiness, and oddly enough there was a trace of chemical from his lab set up in the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Heart Fell With Him

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work to be posted on this site, so be patient with me while I figure things out. I decided to write this fic because I noticed that there are a lot of them set post-Reichenbach, so I wanted to add my own ideas into the mix. Love you guys!!

"SHERLOCK! SHERLOCK NO!" I screamed. I'd never screamed louder.

"Goodbye, John. I love you." He said into the phone, before hanging up and falling. I ran, as fast as I could to try and catch him, to save him. He was the love of my life. I ran as fast as possible until something knocked me over. The delay was too long, I couldn't save him. As soon as I stood back up, I ran again. If there was going to be any chance of him surviving, he had to be caught immediately. I felt tipsy, but I pushed my way through the small crowd. I got to him, there was no pulse, he wasn't breathing. 

"Sherlock, Sherlock no. You can't. You promised me. We were going to grow old together. Sherlock!" I was in agony. I was sobbing, this was more painful than being shot. I wouldn't believe he was dead, trying pointlessly to revive him. To put air back into his lungs. Anything, he wasn't dead, I wouldn't let him. Eventually I gave up, but it hurt even more. Lestrade showed up at the scene seconds after it happened. He asked if I was alright, and I flashed a look that told him how ridiculous of a question he was asking. He tried to console me, but it was no use. I had just witnessed the love of my life throw himself from a rooftop. Greg offered to give me a lift home, but I told him that I couldn't bear to return yet.

My phone rang, and the caller ID showed it to be Mycroft to be the caller. "Yes?" I asked upon picking up.

"Hello, John. If you feel capable, please come by my house. I just heard the news, and us being the two closest people to him, we should stick close." The last thing I wanted to do was go home, so I decided to take Mycroft's offer.

"Greg," I said to get his attention. "Could you take me to Mycroft's place?" He nodded and gestured for me to get into the passenger's seat. I climbed in, still wrapped in one of those shock blankets, and buckled up as the Inspector began to drive.

"If there's anything you need, just let me know. I'd be happy to help…" he said in the silence of the car ride.

"Can you bring back Sherlock?" I asked. His reply was a guilt stricken shake of his head. 

I now felt bad for asking a question for which I already knew the answer, but I knew he understood that it was grief and disbelief that were talking, not me. 

Not too much later we arrived at Mycroft's house, which was overly large for one person, but I didn't want to judge. I thanked Greg and got out of the car, walking up to giant oak doors still wrapped in the shock blanket. I reached my hand to the elegant brass knocker on the door, but it opened and Mycroft stood facing me. "Hello, John," he said. "Please, come in." I walked in and was in awe at how big just the entrance was. We walked to what I guessed to be the parlor, if people still had those anymore. He motioned for me to sit in an expensive looking armchair and I did. He sat in one opposite me and began talking. "So I guess you're wondering why I have invited you here. Well, I can assume that you do not wish to return to yours and Sherlock flat yet, and knowing your relationship, it may be a while before you do feel ready, so I was wondering if you'd like to stay here. I've got plenty of room and you can stay as long as you want. I can send someone to the flat to retrieve some of your things, too, if you want." 

"Are, are you sure? I don't want to be a burden." I said.

He shook his head, "Of course you wouldn't be a burden!" I accepted his offer and he showed me to a room that'd been prepared. It was one of the most elegant and intricate rooms I'd ever seen. Almost competition to Buckingham palace. I grinned slightly at the thought of Buckingham palace, the time Sherlock and I had been dragged there on a case and Sherlock arrived in nothing but a white bed sheet encasing him. A pang of heartache shot through me upon this memory. I thanked Mycroft almost to the point of pestering him, but he didn't seem to mind. He left me to get settled, and informed me that one of his people would bring by some of his things later this evening. I thanked him once again and laid down on the four-post bed, closing the paisley patterned blue satin drapes.

I smashed my face into the satin pillows, allowing myself to cry again. My pillows were soaked within five minutes, but I didn't care. The entire room was filled with the sound of desperation, abandonment, loss, undying love and the smell of sweat, tears, grief, and possibly a slight hint of guilt. My cares to how loud I was walked out the door with Mycroft after he'd left me to get settled, almost a full hour ago. I cried myself to sleep after three hours straight without eating dinner.


	2. Is It Too Late For Me To Say Yes?

I woke up the next morning, well, it was closer to afternoon being 11:45, and all but rolled out of bed. I noticed two suitcases sitting just in front of the redwood dresser, and guessed that those were the things Mycroft's people had brought over. Desperate for a change in scenery, I wrapped myself in a thin, floral quilt and walked, if you could even call it that, into the parlor where Mycroft had offered me the room. I noticed him sitting in one of the armchairs reading a newspaper, but paid no mind as I made my way to the large, overstuffed sofa. "Good morning, John." It sounded like he said, but I was so completely out of It I wasn't sure that he said anything, so I avoided replying to avoid being awkward. He didn't look up from his paper, so I assumed I was right not to reply. He did, though, look up when he offered me breakfast, which I politely declined due to my appetite being diminished by the events of yesterday. Mycroft also informed me that he'd phoned the clinic and arranged for me to have some time off to grieve. I barely comprehended the simple information before sending myself back down memory lane.

The two of us sat at dinner together in a fancy restaurant to celebrate our one year anniversary of being together, seeing many other happy couples around us, many bearing shining rings on their fingers. "One day that's gonna be us." Sherlock had told me. "I'm gonna marry you one day, I promise." I giggled happily. "I am, I won't die until we're married. I swear to god, on my mother's grave I will marry you." I was so happy, I was only happier the day we first kissed. 

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes." I said. I meant it, too. He was mine, my consulting detective. My highly functioning sociopath. He was mine. All mine.

Finishing the memory, I broke down again. It was probably the happiest memory we'd shared. I loved him, and still do. I always, always, will love him. It wasn't until I noticed Mycroft had sat down beside me that I realized I'd completely spaced off. "Come on," he said. "I need to take you somewhere, you're not going to recover by sitting here all day." I stood up and followed him, doing whatever was told. He and I were in the back of one of his cars on our way to somewhere I was unaware of.

Several minutes later, we arrived at the hospital. My tears threatened to make a presence as I saw the spot where he fell. Mycroft beckoned me inside, still wrapped in the quilt. "Where are we going?" I asked defensively.

"There's something you need to see." he said, leading me to some sort of private waiting area. "Wait here," he said before walking briskly and somewhat dramatically, as Holmes boys always do, out of the room. He returned several minutes later with a white crate with the name of my boyfriend written on it in what looked like someone's most careful handwriting.

"You wanted me to see a crate with his name on it?" I asked snarkily. I immediately shot Mycroft a look of apology for my sudden outburst.

"No," he replied, reaching in. "There's something inside I think you need to see." He handed me a small red box. I looked at him suspiciously before opening it to find a ring and a note in obviously Sherlock's best handwriting with poem asking for me to marry him. I burst into tears. Closing the box and held it cupped to my mouth in a kiss, the sort he placed on the top of my head when he was worrying about me. After a moment, I opened the box again, containing myself as best I could, and retrieved the ring from it's bed of velvet. It slid easily onto my finger, it was obviously made for me. I closed the box once more to preserve the poem. I slid the box into my pocket and closed my eyes. Several deep breaths later, I was as close to composed as I could get. I decided that being here was starting to become too much, and asked Mycroft if we could leave. He said yes, but had to return the crate first. I waited while he left to take it back to wherever it came from.

While he was gone, I allowed myself to think. I didn't know what I was thinking about, but I needed to think. "Yes," I said to Sherlock, hoping he would hear me from wherever he was. "Of course I'll marry you." I broke down instantly, having no Sherlock there to hear me. I twisted the ring on my finger, feeling the diamonds set deeply into the ring, the little ridges framing them beautifully. I kept repeating that one word, "yes," over and over to myself. I needed him there. I could almost feel his long, strong arms around my waist, his soft, sweet lips that were ever so easy to melt into on my own. I almost saw his gleaming iceberg blue eyes that I'd become lost in countless times. He smelled smoky, even though he only smoked once every couple of months, relying on his nicotine patches for his fix. It was as if he was in the room with me, rejoicing our engagement after almost two years of being together.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mycroft returned, ready to leave. I eagerly followed him out of the hospital, being there was too much to handle right now, and within five minutes we were on our way back to his house.


	3. When I Broke Down At My Fiancé's Funeral

It was a Thursday morning, three weeks after Sherlock's death. I woke up again in the bed in Mycroft's house and looked toward the window. The reality that today was the last day I'd ever be able to see Sherlock, the love of my life, slapped me mercilessly in the face, even though I wouldn't actually be able to see him. I dragged myself out of bed slowly and almost painfully. Hanging on the closet door there was a suit that Mycroft had purchased for me, not unlike one of his, and I put it on. It was already nine, and the funeral started at 11, so I had to get ready. My appetite had not returned yet, so once again, I skipped breakfast. My mind was racing a thousand miles an hour, and in an attempt to calm it, I pulled out the paper my speech was written on. I read through it out loud several times before having to leave for the funeral home.

The two of us arrived quickly to the home, and went inside just as fast. Everyone involved tried to keep the funeral low key so that the people who were close to him could actually grieve. We walked inside and I sat down in the front of the room on one of the chairs, just before people started arriving. Mrs. Hudson was the first to arrive, followed by Lestrade, Molly, and everyone else who knew sherlock personally. Even his parents managed to show up. Each person coming up to me, offering hugs, condolences, and applauding me on my bravery. After a while, the actual funeral started, but I couldn't concentrate enough to know what the man was saying. Finally, I was supposed to make a speech.

"Hello," I began. "As all of you know, I knew Sherlock the best. When he was around me, almost since the day we met, all of the walls he had built up crumbled. Every single reservation and insecurity he shared with me. I knew everything about him. At least, I thought I did. I couldn't begin to imagine in the slightest what would bring Sherlock to such a final decision," I paused to try fighting back tears. "He was, is, the love of my life. No matter how much he acted like a spoiled brat, he was still mine. Every deduction, every insult, everything," That was when I began to lose it. I couldn't speak, sears overcame me. I couldn't handle it. This all seemed too final. I couldn't believe this was actually happening. I tried to finish my speech, but I just couldn’t. "I'm sorry," I half squeaked, half croaked out as someone, probably Greg, came to help me back to my seat. I sat and cried for the rest of the service, through everyone's speeches, through everything. As soon as it was over, I was driven to the cemetery for the burial. Everything was a complete blur, and all I remember is tossing a red rose onto the casket deep under the ground. Well after the burial, I was still sitting on a stone bench staring at the sleek marble headstone. I couldn't even cry anymore. Once I was completely alone with Sherlock, I stood up and walked over to talk to him, even if he wasn't physically present.

"Hey, babe," I said, as if we were talking on the phone and I was telling him I'd be home from work late. "I miss you. You could never even begin to understand how much I've missed you. I got your ring, the one in the red velvet box. It fits like a dream. The answer is yes, if you can hear me. I'd marry you with no doubt in my mind. It'd be a dream come true to marry you." I sat down against the stone, as if I were able to cuddle him again. I talked on and on, about utter nonsense. It was almost 10 in the evening before I realized I should probably leave. "One last thing, Sherlock. One last miracle, for me. Please don't be dead." I cried as I walked to the exit of the cemetery. I thought I'd seen him out of the corner of my eye, but brushed it off as grief playing tricks on me. I collected myself enough to phone a cab back to Mycroft's place, but once I hung up the phone, I broke down again.


	4. Frustrated Confusion and the Learning of Secrets

It was the day of our third anniversary, one year and nine months after the funeral. I decided I finally felt ready to go home. I thanked Mycroft for everything before leaving, and he had one of his cars take me back to Baker Street. Once arrived, I gathered both my suitcases and all of my courage, and walked inside. It looked absolutely the same, except for a layer of dust along the banister from lack of use. I walked upstairs, leaving my luggage by the stairs, and cautiously opened the door to our flat. Everything was exactly how it'd been left almost two years ago. The entire place still lingered with the scent of Sherlock, and happiness, and oddly enough there was a trace of chemical from his lab set up in the kitchen.

I walked into the bedroom we shared and it smelled heavily of him, and me, and love. There was something off about this moment, though. I couldn't quite seem to figure out what it was. I decided it was probably just the nerves of being home after five months, and thought nothing of it. After spending a few minutes bathing in the nostalgia of our room, I decided I should probably go let Mrs. Hudson know I was home. I turned around and saw a sight I'd never thought I'd see again.

"Sherlock," I gasped. It didn't take me long before I was slowly walking toward him, trying to make sure he was really here. Within seconds, my arms were wrapped around his neck and my lips were on his. We both melted into the kiss. After we pulled apart, he noticed the ring on my finger.

"You got it?" he asked. I smiled and nodded. He grabbed my hand and got down on his knee. "Well, I already know the answer to this, but I never actually got to, so John Hamish Watson, my handsome, perfect soldier, will you do me the great honor of being my husband?" I stared down happily at my fiancé.

"Yes, oh goddamn it Sherlock yes!" His eyes glittered happily as he immediately stood up, grabbing me by the waist, and twirling me around, connecting our lips once again in the process. "I missed you, Sherlock," I said breathlessly. "I really should punch you, though. What the hell happened? You make me watch as you, the love of my life, jump off of a building, apparently faking your own suicide, and then not call me, text me, write me, anything. I have been living in your brother's guest bedroom for almost two years, because I couldn't bear to even hear the WORDS Baker Street, because I broke down in tears at anything that reminded me of you. I could hardly WALK!" I had started crying out of anger and abandonment. He and I were sitting on the bed now, and he was wrapped around me, attempting to calm me down before I had another panic attack, which seemed to become more common since the incident.

"Shh, sh, sh, sh. Honey, it's alright, I'm right here. You're going to be okay, I promise." He could be the biggest pain in your ass you'd ever have, but when you needed him, he was always the sweetest, most comforting person in the world. "Hey, sweetie, look at me," he said, lifting my chin so I was looking right into his sweet, pure blue eyes. "I'm home now, you're safe, I'm safe, there's nothing that's gonna happen to you." He grinned and planted a kiss right on my lips. I missed the sweet taste of his kisses.

"I- I was alone, two years." I said. He hugged me tighter.

"I know, I know, I'm so incredibly sorry. I promise it'll never happen again, I promise. It was the biggest mistake of my life, I swear." He was incredibly genuinely sorry, I could see it in the way he looked at me, and the way he pleaded. 

"I forgive you, I really do hon. I just don’t understand why." I was close to hyperventilating. Sherlock's large hand was warm and comforting. He helped me with my breathing, and getting me back under control. He told me he'd explain later, when he felt like I wasn't going to have a panic attack at the drop of a hat.

"Come here, sweetie," he said, standing up and obviously very worried again.

"What's wrong?" I asked, standing up to face him. He took off my jumper and buttondown, leaving me shirtless.

"John-" he said breathlessly. "Have you eaten a thing in the last few months? You're so thin…" He put both of his hands on my chest, he traced over every rib, ran his hands over my stomach.

"I- I- my appetite was gone. I was diagnosed with depression, and that certainly didn't help." He looked hurt.

"That's no excuse, honey you have to eat! I can't believe my brother didn't do something!" He looked extremely hurt. "Honey, you could kill yourself. That's dangerous, John. You, of all people, should know that!!" He hugged me closely and tightly, but delicately as if he were hugging a small china doll. It was almost like he thought he was going to break me. Then, in an instant, he scooped me up princess style and carried me into the living room, laying me down on the couch. "Wait right here, I'll be back in 15 minutes. Don't move." He hurried out of the flat, faster than I'd ever seen him move before. I slowly drifted off in the silence of the flat, and the comfort of the couch.


	5. Everybody Knows How I Love You So

I woke up about an hour later to an enticing smell coming from the kitchen. It was a good change from the smell of chemicals and sometimes rotting flesh. Minutes after I awoke, Sherlock walked into the living room. "Oh, good, you're awake," he said, like a child with something he wanted to show his mother. "Come with me, I've got something for you." He scooped me up and carried me to the kitchen and sat me down in one of the chairs, at the table he'd cleaned off for once.

"What's this?" I inquired as he sat a plate filled with food down in front of me.

"It's lunch! We simply cannot have you not eating, who else is going to make sure that I eat?" He looked very proud of himself. He sat down across from me with an identical plate of food. I looked down at mine and realized it was fish and chips, my favorite. I picked up my fork and dug in, it was amazing. The fish was perfectly fried and the chips had just the right amount of seasoning.

"This is amazing!" I said. Even though it was a lot of food for me, seeing as I hadn't consumed more than milk or water over the past five months, I ate every bite because one, it was simply amazing, and two, it meant a lot to Sherlock that I was eating. After we'd both finished, he insisted that we go see our closest friends and share the news of our engagement.

First, since she was the closest, we went downstairs to see Mrs. Hudson. I knocked on her door and she swiftly answered. "Sherlock!" she exclaimed. He smiled his bright smile and happily embraced her when she hugged him. We stayed and the three of us chatted for a while before Sherlock came right out with the news.

"John and I are officially engaged!" He said, intertwining his fingers with mine. Mrs. Hudson became excited and started talking about how fondly she remembers her wedding and funny things that happened and almost anything she could remember about it. After a bit, we politely excused ourselves so we could visit our other friends.

Next on the list was Greg Lestrade. We hailed a cab and climbed in the back seat. "Scotland Yard, please." I said. While on our way, I made Sherlock put on a stocking cap because I didn't want it all over the news that he'd made a comeback before most of our friends even knew. He put it on stubbornly, mumbling something about his curls, but sucked it up anyways. When we arrived, I paid the cabby and we got out. We went inside, having to walk through a metal detector, and got in the lift. Sherlock pushed the button for the third floor and we were there in minutes. Having been so many times, both of us had the way to the office bearing the name Inspector G. Lestrade on the door. This time seemed different though, almost adventurous.

We knocked on the door to his office and our friend answered with his usual, "Come in." The two of us walked in to see Greg sitting with his feet propped up on his desk and twirling a pencil in his left hand. As soon as he saw us he stood up straight with a large smile on his face. Sherlock yanked off the cap as Lestrade walked over to us. "Holmes, well aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he said, giving him a solid hug. He looked at me and smiled, "John, how are you?" The ring proudly gleaming on my finger was not unnoticed, however thin it may be. Greg looked from the ring, to me, to my fiancé before smiling again. "You come back from the dead, and the first thing you do is get engaged. How unexpected," he chuckled sarcastically. Sherlock smiled proudly and wrapped an arm around my waist.

The three of us sat down at Greg's desk and talked for a while before we told him we had to leave. He said alright, but insisted on coming over for dinner one night soon. "Of course," I said. "Actually, I was thinking about organizing a party soon." We chatted for a minute or two before Sherlock got impatient enough even to put the stocking cap on. We said goodbye and left to walk to St. Bart's to see Molly. It wasn't that far away, and the weather was nice, despite the nippiness of the cold October afternoon. As we walked, hand in hand, I tilted my head to rest on his shoulder. "I missed you." I said quietly.

"And I, you, my dear," He replied sweetly, giving my hand a light squeeze. There was nothing I loved more than being close to Sherlock. He was so warm and comforting. We walked for about five minutes before we came to the front entrance of St. Bart's Hospital. Sherlock held the door for me as I walked in, and he closely followed. Sherlock checked his watch before grabbing my hand once more and walking in the direction of the staircase leading to the morgue. We scurried down one and a half flights of stairs toward the place where Molly was almost always found.

Sherlock burst through the doors as dramatically as possible, having already let his curls loose as soon as we'd gotten to the base of the stairs. I followed him in and saw our friend sitting completely startled, nearly scared, sitting behind a Bunsen burner with a beaker of green fluid sitting over it. "What the- Sherlock!" She exclaimed, standing up and coming over to us with a grin. Molly hugged us each, him a little tighter than me. "How are you?" We found somewhere to sit down in the slightly cluttered lab and chatted lightly, but the conversation always seemed to drift back towards wedding plans and such. We talked for an hour or two, before Molly said she needed to get going for a dinner date. We said our goodbyes, and I dragged Sherlock out so he could let Molly go get ready. He tugged on the stocking cap as we went upstairs, this time he didn't complain.

We walked outside, hit harshly by the cooling late afternoon air. We got in the first cab we could hail over, greeting the warmth thankfully. "Baker Street," I told the cabby, and he pulled off the curb, heading in the direction of our flat. The silence between Sherlock and I was a comfortable one, something I missed dearly during the past two or so years. Sherlock leaned over to rest his head on my shoulder, making me wince at the sudden weight added, as it was my bad shoulder, but then I calmed down and relaxed into his touch. I rested my head gently on top of his and breathed deeply, taking in his scent. It was sweet and strong, with a hint of something acidic. The best scent in the world. The drive seemed quicker than usual and I pouted slightly when the cabby stopped the car, but I handed him the money and climbed out after Sherlock, back into the fall air.

We hurried back inside and up the stairs to our flat. We shed our jackets, and Sherlock his scarf, and sat down in our chairs. His cheeks were rosy pink from the cold, and I couldn't help but smile. I also couldn't help getting out of my chair and going to sit on his lap. The two of us just sat there for a while, cuddling and enjoying being together again.


	6. Lestrade's Grievance Is Our Wakeup Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, sorry this chapter isn't the best. I wrote this one almost overnight so you guys would have something to read today. I've decided to take a few days to write the next chapter, so I'll post when I've got it done (probably around saturday or so). I'll work on it night and day to try and have something out as soon as I can because it looks like you guys are really enjoying this! So on with the chapter!!

In the morning, I woke up before Sherlock and got to work cleaning. Our flat hadn't been lived in in two years, so it was pretty filthy. Not to mention the dirt from before it sat vacant. So I got up and got the supplies out, a vacuum cleaner, the mop, rags, glass cleaner and the lot, and got to work. My first task was to clear the thick layer of dust covering everything. It was harder than you'd think. There was dust everywhere, from the floors to the blinds and windowsills, it was a mess. I went through two of those disposable duster things on just the living room! After the dust, and a surprising amount of cobwebs, I decided that laundry would need to be done, just to get rid of the musky smell and any dust or webs that may be on them. So I went through our drawers, pulling out shirts, and trousers, and pants, just every article of clothing I could find, and sorted it all into their respective hampers based on the colors. Once I'd thrown the first load of laundry in the washer, I put as many dishes as I could into the dishwasher for the same reason. I hit start on the dishwasher, taking out the rest of the dishes from the cupboard so I could put away the clean ones, and went into the living room so I could vacuum the floor. I felt bad about running it before Sherlock was up just because it was so loud, but I knew that on the rare occasion Sherlock slept, he slept like a log.

I turned it on and cleaned up all the carpeting, trying to go as fast as possible so as not to prolong the sound, and finished just as I heard the clothes washer beep for me to put the next load in. I grabbed the next hamper and carried it to the laundry room. Once the previous load was thrown into the dryer, I shoved the next load into the washer and selected the settings. Once I'd hit start, I left the room and went to go mop the hardwood and tile floors. After that was done, I emptied the dishwasher and replaced the clean dishes with the remaining ones I'd left on the counter, and I finished just in time because I heard Sherlock waking up. He padded sleepily into the kitchen where I was making tea for the both of us, and started talking almost immediately.

"I want to throw a party," he said insistently. "Not a big one, just a few of our friends."

"Why would you like to have a party? Usually having guests over is my idea," I replied.

"I like the idea of having an engagement party. Maybe just dinner and drinks, I don't care, but it's a good idea." He was grinning proudly, the sleep still evident in his face. I handed him a cup of tea, prepared just how he liked it, and gave my answer.

"I think that's a wonderful idea." I said. We did some minor planning over our tea, before Sherlock trotted off to go find himself a case. Our final decision was to just have our friends over for drinks in celebration. I planned on going out this afternoon, but decided that I shouldn't plan anything too concrete because knowing my fiancé, I could be dragged into a case at the drop of a hat weather I want to or not.

I heard the washer go off once more, so I grabbed the final hamper and headed to the laundry room. As I was folding the clothes out of the dryer so I could shove the next load in, I listened to Sherlock mumble the word "boring," repeatedly as he scrolled through his website looking for cases. Once the clothes were folded into a basket and the next load running, I carried the basket into our bedroom and began putting clothes away. A minute or two later, Sherlock bounded heavily and speedily into the room. "Lestrade's got us a case, you have 10 minutes to get ready because he's on his way over," he said. His tone of voice said he'd already accepted for Lestrade to come over and that it was too late to discuss.

Ten minutes obviously left me with no time to shower, so I settled for putting on a comfy striped jumper, a pair of jeans, and a fair amount of cologne to mask that I hadn't washed yet today. I heard conversation in the other room just as I finished combing my hair, which meant our friend had arrived and I was taking too long. I stepped out of the bedroom to see that Sherlock had decided his spot for the day would be flat on his back on the sofa, and Lestrade was waiting for me in Sherlock's armchair.

"Alright, the gang's all here," He said. "So we've been called in early today about the murder of a teenage girl. And you better be thorough as hell on this one because she was the best friend of my goddaughter. Alright? No screw ups, and no jumping off buildings." I looked at him grimly because he'd just gone a bit too far with that last one. He apologized, and by the time he and I were standing up to leave for the scene, Sherlock was already at the door, looping his scarf around his neck.


	7. Frustrations, Conclusions, Nightmares, Worries, And An Angry Phone Call

Sherlock was prancing (too) happily around the lab as he observed some kind of particles he uncovered at the crime scene. He'd been studying them for almost three hours now, and I expected him not to be done for another few. "Hon, I think I'm gonna go home. It's almost 10 o'clock. I love you." I gave him a kiss on the cheek and he just brushed me off. I sighed and left, not really sure what I was expecting. He was Sherlock, when he invested himself in a case, there was no pulling him out of it even for a second.

"Taxi," I called to a cab that was driving past. It pulled over and I slid into the back seat. "Baker Street, please." I said to him. He pulled off the curb and started driving. I took a deep breath in attempt to hold back tears that I knew wouldn't come in the first place. For some reason I thought he was going to change. That he was going to care less about his work and more about me. It was never going to happen, though. Not a chance.

The cabby pulled up in front of my flat and I handed him a wad of money, hoping it was the right amount because I honestly couldn't think straight enough to count out the exact change. I walked inside and slammed the door behind me, not caring who I disturbed because right now all I wanted was some goddamned affection from my fiancé. Not too much to ask, I hope. I slid off my shoes and jacket, throwing them haphazardly into the living room where I'd find them tomorrow. I bound into the bedroom and left the door open for Sherlock, even though I knew even if he came home he wouldn't be coming to bed. I Curled up in a ball under my covers and wanted so bad to cry out of anger and jealousy, but I just couldn't. The tears were all cried out. Instead, I just laid there making pathetic squeaks and cries as if I were actually crying. I was a mess. Just a pathetic mess.

"John?" I heard a voice say. I didn't bother to try and figure out who the voice belonged to. As long as I stayed quiet enough, I thought, they would think I was out. Yeah, still at the lab with Sherlock. I breathed slowly and shallowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. "John?" The voice called again. I recognized it as a man's voice, but that's all I remember before falling asleep.

I woke up several times during the night, the cause of my nightmares, and the little sleep I got was useless and unrefreshing. The same nightmare over and over for two years, the sight of Sherlock jumping from St. Bart's. The sight of him hitting the pavement. Even though Sherlock was still here with me, my nightmares still kept coming back. Every single night. I finally gave up around four in the morning and walked out into the living room wrapped just in Sherlock's Buckingham Palace sheet, I completely stripped when I woke up hot and sweaty at one, and sat down on the couch to the most expected sight I'd ever seen "Hey, babe," I said loud enough so he could hear me, but still almost mumbling it. Sherlock was sitting at the desk scrolling through pages of something on my laptop. 

"It was the younger sister," he said randomly. "The murderer, Lestrade's case. It was the younger sister. Afraid she wouldn't get her rightful inheritance. I'll tell him when he wakes up." It hit me what he was talking about. Sherlock spun around to face me in the swivel chair he was in. "John," he asked.

"Hm," I replied, snapping back to reality after spacing out.

"What did you eat for breakfast?"

"Tea, why?"

"Lunch?"

"I was with you all day, we didn't stop to eat," I replied once again.

"Dinner?" He sounded worried.

"Leftovers that I snatched from Mrs. Hudson the other day."

"Don't lie to me, please."

"Fine, nothing," I said quite stubbornly.

"Yesterday?" he asked.

"Same."

"Day before?"

"Again, same." He looked incredibly worried.

"John," he said sadly. "Honey, why?"

"Why should I?" I asked. He looked stunned and hurt. Sherlock walked over to join me on the sofa and wrapped his arms protectively and delicately.

"John, you are beautiful. And perfect. And I don't know why it is you're not eating, but I promise you, I will do everything in my power to help you fix it." He could be a complete dick at some moments, but these were the moments when I remembered why I loved him. I let him hold me for a while before he had to get up and make a call. Before he picked up the phone, though, he handed me an apple. "Eat, honey. You need it. I can count each and every single one of your ribs." I bit into the apple just as he hit call on his phone.

"I think we need to have a serious fucking talk," he said angrily. "I don't know how long it's been this way," he walked out of the room so although I could hear him yelling into the receiver, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. Curse these thick walls. I grabbed my book off the end table and started reading while I waited for him to come back. It wasn't too long, he seemed much to angry to continue talking to whomever it was after five or so minutes.

"Who was it, honey?" I asked him when he huffed back into the room. He didn't answer, so I decided not to push. He sat down at the desk again and opened up a new window in the browser, but I couldn't tell what he was searching for. I opened my book again and continued reading.


	8. Sleepy Mornings and Expensive Suits Always Make For a Good Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very proud of this chapter. In my opinion, it's the best one I've written so far. Hope you guys enjoy it!!

I woke up one morning, a few days after Sherlock's angry phone call to the mystery person, and realized it was the day of our engagement party. Sherlock had come to bed last night, which was a very pleasant rarity, and I woke up in too comfortable a position to want to move. I was rested with my head against his bare chest, one arm lazily draped over his waist, the other was underneath him and had lost feeling. His arms were wrapped around me loosely, and I felt at home being wrapped up in his warmth. I adjusted my head so I could see my fiancé's face, and sure enough, he was still asleep. Sherlock's face looked peaceful and unbothered by the thoughts constantly zipping around in his mind. It looked like his thoughts had fallen asleep with him, just to give him a break from the business. I smiled as he slowly awoke, his dream still vivid in his soft, icy eyes. "Good morning, my love," he said, his voice was light and husky with sleep.

"Good morning," I replied, closing my eyes as I smiled. He gave me a quick squeeze before letting his arms, once again, lay limp around my body. "You're cute when you're sleeping," I pointed out. He chuckled a little bit.

"I should hope so," he said with obvious humor in his still tired morning voice. I moved my arm from where it was draped over his waist so that my hand was on his chest. He'd gotten more muscular in the past few years, I noted. The two of us just laid there together for a while. I traced circles across his pale chest, swiping my index finger gently over each tiny freckle. He moved slightly, leaning over to kiss my forehead. I adjusted myself so that I could reach up and give him what was meant to be a peck on the lips, but lingered too long to be considered as such. "I love just laying here cuddling with you," he said. "But we do have a party to prepare for." We got out of bed and I went to the kitchen to put the kettle on, while Sherlock grabbed a pair of boxers to put on in case Mrs. Hudson were to come wandering up with a plate of scones.

As I readied the tea pot and mugs for us, Sherlock walked out of the bedroom and came into the kitchen with me. He wrapped his arms loosely around my waist and rested his chin on my head. I smiled at his warm presence and turned around in his grasp to give him a quick kiss on the nose before the kettle started whistling, signaling to me that it was done. I slipped out of his grip and went to go pour the water from the kettle into the teapot. Sherlock handed me two tea bags and I put them in after the water. He made us each a plate of eggs, which finished just as the tea was done steeping. We sat at the table and chatted while we ate, becoming excited about our party to be held later this afternoon. Mycroft had insisted on planning it, so really the only thing we knew of was the guest list.

Sherlock's parent's would be attending, of course, as well as mine. We invited Molly and her boyfriend, a man called Adam, as well as Greg Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson would be attending, obviously, and Mike Stamford and his family, a wife and two sons aged 15 and 17. You can't possibly have an engagement party without the friend that introduced you, I thought. And of course Mycroft would be there. Sherlock protested, but I insisted that since he was his brother, and he was being kind enough to plan and pay for the entire party for us, he should be invited. I, of course, won that argument.

After breakfast, it was already almost eleven o'clock. "The party starts at three, right? Or four," I asked Sherlock.

"Three, I believe." He decided to move himself into the living room for a little, while I cleaned up from breakfast. I heard Sherlock flip on the telly to the afternoon news as I was pouring out the undrunk tea into the sink. Deciding I was to lazy to put the dishes in the dishwasher, I filled the sink with hot water and left them to soak in it. After the kitchen was tidied, I went to join my lovely fiancé in the living room, where I slipped onto his lap to watch the news with him. We saw stories about the Queen's 90th birthday celebration, the war still raging thousands of miles away, the Americans, once again, becoming more involved than recommended, and all of the usual stuff. Sherlock held me tightly during the stories about war, remembering that I had returned home from the wretched conditions just a month or so before we met. We stayed like this until about half one, when I decided we should start getting ready for our party.

Mycroft had ordered us suits, ever pampering his already spoiled brother and, in turn, me, which had been delivered the day prior. They stood out in our wardrobe, the only articles of clothing expensive enough to warrant vinyl bags covering them. After we'd showered, I retrieved the bags containing possibly thousands of pounds worth of material, and laid them on the bed. The one meant for Sherlock was obvious, larger with a thinner cut around the limbs. His was a deep navy blue color, made of some sort of satin, and was accompanied by a matching tie of what looked like velvet. Along with were a set of diamond cufflinks and a tie pin in the shape of a magnifying glass, obviously Mycroft's idea at a joke on his brother's profession. My suit was a very dark and deep shade of burgundy, almost the color of dried blood. It was the same satin material as Sherlock's, with a matching tie of silk instead of velvet. Accompanying my amazing suit were a pair of mother of pearl cufflinks, and a simple tie chain made out of silver. "Sherlock don't you dare let me forget to thank your brother for these, they must've cost a fortune!" I said as I unzipped the bag around mine. I was still in awe at the suit as I put it on, going slowly for fear of disturbing it's essence. My love, however, slipped it on carefully, but unfazed by it's obvious worth. I suspected he had owned plenty of suits like this throughout his life, being raised a lot by his elder brother. As soon as the suit was on him, Sherlock complained about not being able to do his cufflinks and how it would be, quote, "so much easier to just have buttons." I helped him out with his before putting mine on. I admired him, taking in how the suit hugged his body in all the right ways in all the right places.

By the time we had finished getting ready, it was already quarter-to-three, and I guessed that we should begin heading out the door. I quickly peeked out the front window before following Sherlock down the steps, seeing that Mycroft had send a car to pick us up and take us to the destination of our obviously very high class party.


	9. Wonderful Parties Are Made By Wonderful People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay you guys, so I don't plan on doing many dedications, but I just absolutely HAVE to dedicate this specific chapter to my friend Tyra. We had so much fun with her trying to deduce what would happen in this chapter based on little blurbs I shared with her, and she's just an all around amazing friend. Love you girl!

We arrived at the destination, the Holmes Manor where Mycroft lived after they're parents bought a flat in Cardiff. The driver of the car pulled up in the circle drive right to the front doors, still astonishing and heavy as the last time I was there. Once the car was stopped, the chauffeur opened the door for us, allowing us to get out. "Thank you," I said as politely as I could. He nodded before getting back behind the wheel and driving off, probably to park the car somewhere. Before going inside, Sherlock held his arm out for me, which I wrapped my own arms around. We walked up to the heavy oak doors, which opened just as we reached them.

"Hello John, Sherlock, glad to see you received my gifts?" Mycroft greeted us upon letting us enter.

"Yes, thank you much, Mycroft! I've never owned a suit like this before," I replied. Sherlock decided that in order to avoid saying something snotty, he would just remain quiet, so I did most of the talking as his brother led us to what I guessed to be another parlor. Everybody turned from their conversations to see us, and each of our guests greeted us with a smile. As we began to mingle, I noticed that there was a guest whom I didn't recognize at first, but I gasped when I realized who it was. It was the way she was dressed, and how her sandy hair flowed neatly just past her shoulders that threw me off. "Harry?" I said astonished at the almost new girl standing before me. She turned around to face me, and I knew it really was my older sister.

"Hey, little brother," she greeted me happily. I was pulled into a hug and I was too dumbfounded to be able to resist.

"Harriet Watson, I can't believe it's you! You look, good," I said. Her curly, and usually matted, hair was brushed out and completely straightened. Instead of her usual strapless top and the shortest shorts she could find, Harry was wearing a very stylish white dress with large black polka dots, that was tight against her body but fanned out gorgeously at the knee. She looked like something right out of one of those style magazines in the waiting room at the clinic. I noticed that she didn't reek of alcohol, either. "You don't smell like booze, either!" I exclaimed. She smiled and took a sip of what I was guessing to be some sort of sprite or ginger ale.

"Yup, one month sober," she said proudly. We chatted for a little bit, catching up about the last few years. I hadn't seen my sister since she and Clara split. After a while, Sherlock walked over with two cocktails in hand, one for himself and one for me.

"Who's this fine woman?" He asked, handing me my drink.

"Um, this is my big sister, Harry. Harry, meet my fiance Sherlock," I introduced the two and they hit it off immediately, exchanging stories about rehab and struggles with they're addictions. I slipped away, not being able to contribute to the conversation, and went over to join Greg who was standing and observing the party. "Hey, Inspector," I said. He was obviously spaced out, but snapped back to when I greeted him.

"Oh, hey John. Great party, by the way. I didn't realize Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes were brothers," after living with Sherlock for so long, one is bound to pick up on a thing or two, and I realized from the way Greg kept glancing over at him, that my friend had a thing for the eldest Holmes boy.

"What'cha looking at?" I asked him, trying to pretend like I didn't already know.

"Oh, nothing, quick question, do you know if Mycroft's in a relationship with anyone?"

"I don't believe so," I started. Mycroft had just finished a conversation and I had a bit of an idea. "Here, come with me. The two of us walked up to my brother-in-law-to-be. "Have you met Greg?" I asked before leaving to go strike up a conversation with my in-laws to be.

Not to long later, it was announced that it was supper time so the lot of us walked slowly into the plush dining room. I was seated at the head of the table, with Sherlock on my left and Mycroft on my right. My sister was seated in between Mycroft and Mrs Holmes, who was seated next to Mr. Holmes. My mum sat next to Mrs. Hudson, who was sandwiched between her and Sherlock, and on the other side of my mum was my father. Molly Hooper sat between Greg, who was seated by my father, and Adam. The eldest Stamford boy, Carter, was seated next to him. Next to Sherlock and Mycroft's father sat the younger Stamford boy, Jackson. Next to Jackson sat his mother, Amanda Stamford, and next to her, Mike.

The first course was a rich golden colored lobster bisque for the appetizer. It was very tasty, being served with just water so as not to risk compromising the beautiful flavor. Our entree was one of my favorites, chicken fettuccine with cream sauce and fresh herbs. The freshly baked garlic bread sticks were passed around the table, and I could smell them from across the room. When I took my first bite, I was flooded with memories from when Harry and I were little and our parents would take us to this amazing Italian restaurant in Sussex every Sunday evening for supper. The recipe used here was obviously very similar to the one used for the pasta I ate for dinner every Sunday for years. Light conversation flitted around the table as we sipped some of the best wine I'd ever tasted, and I was very pleased to see that my parents were getting along well with my friends, and even more than that, I was ecstatic to see that my sister seemed to blend quite nicely into our group. Maybe, I thought, she'll spend more time with us than her drunk friends. She seemed to really be enjoying herself.

After our entree was finished, we gathered back in the parlor to wait for our food to settle before dessert. I smiled at the sight of Mycroft's hand wrapped at Greg's waist, with no obvious intent on letting go more than required. Clinging to Sherlock, I insisted we go say hi to Mike and his family. We were introduced to both Carter and Jackson, as well as Amanda. We learned that Carter was accepted into Harvard Law School and would be leaving in September to go abroad, just after he turned 18. The six of us talked for a half hour or so before dessert was brought in. Each guest received a lovely slice of chocolate cake, accompanied by a small scoop of vanilla ice cream.

The party lasted for another hour before people began leaving, which was completely understandable because it was nearing eleven thirty. The last guest to leave was Greg, who pressed a light kiss to Mycroft's cheek before leaving the manor. After he left, it was just the Holmes brothers and I. In that moment, I heard Sherlock say something I never in a million years would expect him to even think. "Thank you, brother-mine," he said. "This was a lovely party and we had a wonderful time." Both Mycroft and I were astonished. If Sherlock had ever thanked his brother for anything, it had been many, many years ago. After the shock washed over me I smiled proudly and agreed with my love, before telling Mycroft that it was time we head home.

The three of us said our goodbyes before walking out to the car waiting to take us home.


	10. A Slow Day Of Planning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens in this chapter, I hope that's okay. I just kinda needed a filler so that I'm not jumping right from the engagement party to nine months later at the wedding. But yes, I shall be wrapping this story up in a chapter or two. Do not fret though, my darlings! I have decided to make this part of a little series. I'm not going to give away what comes next, though, partially because I don't even have it figured out yet. Haha! Enjoy!

I woke up the next morning to the sound of Sherlock's phone going off on the nightstand by his side of the bed. I felt him move to grab it and read the text as I willed myself to go back to sleep. I heard him press a few keys, sending a reply, and felt him move back under the covers with me. "Who was that?" I asked quietly. He was startled, not realizing I was awake, but replied.

"It seems as though my brother forgot to ask the number of our dear Inspector." We chuckled and he rolled over on his side to face me. "I can't believe my brother has actually started going out with somebody. It's probably been what, 30 years since he's even considered it." He laughed.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Long story. Part of it was our parents. They said that 'Successful people aren't gay,' or whatever. That's when they sent him away to school." The two of us just laid there next to each other for hours, talking about this and about that.

"Sherlock," I started, "We haven't done any planning for our wedding, haven't even picked a date yet," I said.

"I've always dreamed of a winter wedding," he said. I never thought that he'd ever dreamed of his wedding, but I decided not to question it. "It has to be at the beginning of winter, though. So that the snow is still white. That brownish slushy stuff that forms is utterly repulsive." He'd really thought this out.

"Maybe December 14?" I suggested. There's usually snow by then, but it's too soon in the season to become slush. He mulled this over in his head, probably working out statistics about the average snowfall and weather that would be ideal or not.

"Perfect," he stated happily. It was still only March, so we had plenty of time to plan, but it all seemed so close. We decided to get up and go sit on the couch to do some more planning. Sherlock grabbed the laptop and went to sit down, and I made us a pot of tea before joining him.

I poured us each a cup, adding the exact right amount of cream and sugar to his, and we cuddled up under a blanket with the laptop screen visible to the both of us. Not much else happened that day, we called Mycroft and he said he could get us reservations at the Goldsmiths' Hall for both the ceremony and reception, but that was probably the most exciting component. It wasn't unwelcome, though, a quiet and laid back day, just the two of us. It didn't happen much. Especially with Sherlock and I both being so caught up in cases and things, I wished we could have more days like this.

We stayed cuddled up like that all day, and finally at around seven, I heard light snoring from where Sherlock was positioned nearly on top of me. I put the laptop on the table, being careful not to wake my love, and gently picked him up and carried him to the bedroom. He was heavier than you'd expect for someone as thin as he was, but I guessed what he lacked in body fat he made up for in bones. I grinned as I lightly placed him in the bed, still wearing his pajamas from the night before. It was hot in the room, so I tugged off my shirt, but then climbed in bed with him and was out like a light.


	11. He'll Always Be My Miracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it guys! The final chapter of the story! But don't worry. I'm going to post a sequel shortly, and I have the perfect place to pick up. This is the first ever fanfiction I have ever finished, so I hope you enjoy reading this! Love you guys, and thanks so much for reading!!!

December 14, 2016. One of the most hectic days of my life. It was amazing though, and completely worth it.

It started that morning when I was awakened abruptly. "John, wake up! It's the big day! Get up, get up, get up!" Sherlock woke me up like a child waking his parent on Christmas morning. I opened my eyes to see Sherlock standing over me, completely naked except for a towel.

"Sherlock, be careful. These sheets are new, don't drip water all over them," I complained after realizing his hair was still overly saturated with water from his shower. He giggled and kissed me, running off to our walk-in closet before I could scold him about traditions. I chuckled lowly to myself, shaking my head as I got out of bed and walked into the bathroom to hop in the shower. The clock hanging above the door told me that it was already half one in the afternoon. Damn, I thought to myself, how could I have slept all day? I shook thee thought from my head as I shed my boxers and jumped in the shower, letting the water run over me. I quickly lathered my hair with shampoo and cleaned off my body, because the wedding ceremony was to start in an hour and a half, which meant the car would be arriving to pick me up, courtesy of Mycroft. The dear man hadn't offered, but insisted on paying for the entire ceremony and reception, as his wedding gift.

After I was clean, I hopped out of the shower, giving my hair a quick towel-dry before wrapping the towel around my waist. I threw on an undershirt and a pair of red pants before sauntering into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. To my pleasant surprise, there was a plate of eggs and toast and a cup of coffee sitting on the table with a note beside it. "John," the note said, "Mycroft has requested my presence at the hall for absolute final details. I love you, my beautiful fiance. I shall see you soon. Forever and only yours, Sherlock." I smiled at the fact he left a note instead of leaving unannounced like usual, and sat down to eat. I ate quickly, keeping a strict eye on my time, and then went to get dressed.

When I walked into the bedroom, I found a handsome black tuxedo hanging from the wardrobe, much like the one I'd been gifted for my engagement party. The tie was a lovely silver color, contrasting beautifully with the sharp black of the vest, jacket, and trousers. The outfit slid on quite easily, being perfectly tailored to fit my body. I checked the mirror to make sure everything laid smoothly, gave my hair one last comb, and walked outside to where there was a sleek black car waiting to take me off to my wedding.

I arrived at the extravagant hall where it was to take place and was whisked away to a room which held Greg, who was my best man, and my two best mated from the army, Johnny and Bill, were standing in similar suits to mine, minus the jacket. They all wore icy blue bow ties, as well, instead of a silver necktie like mine. "Congrats, mate," Greg said heartily, coming over and pinning a corsage on my lapel, the centerpiece of the arrangement being a stunning blue rose.

Minutes later, somebody knocked on the door, giving us the signal that everybody had been seated and it was time for my three friends to go begin the ceremony. A minute or so later, I followed after. I was already smiling helplessly by the time I reached the doors to the intricate room, and my smile doubled when I turned the corner and saw Sherlock standing at the altar smiling proudly. I began walking the aisle, standing tall, and as if on cue, the flutist began playing a light, merry waltz. She ceased just as I reached my Sherlock, and I smiled even more, staring into his light, iceberg blue eyes.

"Friends, family, we are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. This is not just a union of two hearts today, oh no. This is the union of two families. Two trees with intertwining roots, and we have been made lucky enough to be able to come and witness this event. I believe these two men have prepared their own vows?" The judge began the ceremony.

"Um, yes," I began. "Sherlock, oh Sherlock. You are quite the handful. You're completely unpredictable, you're odd, strange, beautiful, smart, and so much more. People call you the worst things, it's astounding. But none of that matters to me. When you faked your death without a trace for two bloody years, that doesn't matter to me. All that matters to me is that you saved me. Before I met you, I was so alone. I was too proud to turn to my family for help after I'd been sent home, but the moment Mike introduced us, I just knew. And I know you knew too, with all of your deductions and your probably dangerously high IQ. I am in love with you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I am so in love with you that it hurts sometimes. It scares me to think of the way you hurt yourself in the past, and I pray every night to every God I can think of that nothing ever puts you through that again. But right now the most I can do is say I love you and hope that that's enough to protect you, from all the evil in the world. I know that's not possible, but I can sure as hell try." Sherlock smiled as a tear rolled slowly down his face. I smiled up at him as the judge said it was his turn.

"I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all around obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful, and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. It is only for those reasons I didn't expect you to accept when I asked for your hand in marriage, even if I wasn't actually there for the original proposal. I still deem myself unworthy of love, especially that of the bravest, kindest, and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune to know. I am completely ridiculous. Redeemed solely by the warmth and consistency of your ever present love. As I am apparently the one you have chosen to spend the rest of your life with, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion, but I am trying with all my strength to learn to. Today you are standing in front of the person who loves you most in this world, and please believe me when I say that I will never let you down, and every morning I will wake up just to prove it to you." Sherlock finished what he was saying and everybody, even the men, was in tears. The judge even began to tear up. With our rings on, the judge declared that we may kiss. I wrapped my arms around Sherlock's neck and pressed our lips together. Never in my life had I experienced a more perfect moment than this one. Sherlock was my soul mate, and it was reconfirmed every time I looked into his eyes.


End file.
